


Peter Nureyev and The Food Gone Cold

by caitlin_ranae



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Other, massive trigger warning obviously, time to project onto nureyev, we all need a rita in our lives, whoopsie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:22:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25500553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caitlin_ranae/pseuds/caitlin_ranae
Summary: Peter Nureyev, 36 years old, crying on the bathroom floor because he doesn’t know how to feed himself. Who’s tried to get better but it just never seemed worth it because he wasn’t sick enough. No one would take him seriously. Boys don’t get eating disorders.=in which Peter has a slight intervention aboard the Carte Blanche one evening and things don't go as smoothly as planned.
Relationships: Juno Steel/Other(s), Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Peter Nureyev/Other(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 78





	Peter Nureyev and The Food Gone Cold

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone! this is my first junoverse fic as well as my first fic in gerneral, so please be nice to me! second of all, there is a very sizable trigger warning for eating disorders in this one, folks. i have always projected my own personal struggles onto peter so i decided to get it out into the world.   
> \- more notes at the bottom :)

He was staring at his plate again.

The few times the thief had managed to be dragged out of his room or simply arriving as to not make himself seem suspect, it always ended like this. Staring down into the food that Rita- He wasn’t quite sure, he doesn’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen if he can help it- had made. With love surely, but Peter didn’t feel it. Despite the steam rising off of it, the food felt cold. Peter felt cold.

But how could you not when there’s only ice water in your stomach?

He didn’t know how much longer he could stay at the table. The rest of his crew- the rest of his family- were talking about some stream Rita had forced them into watching. He even heard Vespa laugh which, despite it all, made him smile as well. The two haven’t exactly gotten along but things were getting better, very slowly. At least he doesn’t have to worry about her stabbing him anymore. Hopefully.

Maybe a good stab from the assassin wouldn’t actually be that bad. It would hurt like hell, sure, but it would at least keep him in the medbay for a bit and out of Buddy’s self-proclaimed “family meal times”. _I definitely deserve one,_ he thought with a pang of shame.

“Ransom?”

_Oh he definitely deserved it. At least a tiny bit of pain was all he wanted. Things had been going well but he knew that was going to crumble soon and he deserved the pain_ -

“Ransom? You in there?”

It was Juno. The detective had clearly expected a comment as to whatever was happening in the conversation, whatever question he’d been asked. His brain was foggy and as he looked up from his plate and the food he had been absent mindedly pushing around with his fork, he saw the rest of the table staring back. Intensely. Quickly, he slid the mask back on, unaware it had slipped off at all

“Hm, Juno? I’m afraid I got so transfixed on the delicious meal I didn’t hear you.”

_There. Apologize. Compliment the food to change the subject. Bonus points for the compliment making it sound like he’s eaten at least some of it._

“Mistah Ransom,” Rita sounded tentative, which wasn’t like her. Nureyev was immediately on edge. “You see that's exactly what we wanted to talk about-”

_No. There’s nothing to talk about, Peter was perfectly fine. Perfectly fine._ “What is there to talk about, Miss Rita?” he asked, throwing in a casual smile as he lifted his glass of water to his mouth to hide his face.

_Act casual. This isn’t happening. You’re Peter Ransom, you’re a master thief, so good in fact, that Buddy Aurinko herself hired you. How could someone like that struggle with… this? Besides, how did he even know they’re going to ask you?_

This time it was Vespa who spoke, “At first I was worried that you were ill. You started dropping a lot of weight after our last heist and we never saw you eating. You were already thin to begin with so your sudden drop was… unexpected.”

He almost spit his drink out onto the table in surprise. _Oh. Well there goes his hope of changing the subject. And Vespa? Worried about him? Buddy must have put the idea in her head, there’s no way she would actually give him the thought to notice those things._ The thief set his glass down carefully. Sadly, he was positioned in the unfortunate spot to see Juno when he looked back up.

His- _The_ Detective looked so… sad. Peter hated it. Hated how anyone aboard this crew had to take on the useless task of worrying about him. He was fine. _Always have been, always will be._ Besides, the last time he saw Juno the man was walking out on him. Juno had no right to be concerned about him after that.

He turned his eyes back to Vespa where Buddy had her hand over her fiances. “We just wanted to make sure you were alright, dear,” Her one eye filled with concern for the man across the table. _They had barely met, why did everyone care so much?_

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I, I-” _Fuck_ , he was stammering. Ransom, Nureyev, Glass, none of them stammered, he prided himself on that. He could feel the panic rising in his throat and he realized he didn’t know what to say- or what to do.

So he ran.

Pushed his chair back with a start and bolted. He was a thief after all, been a man on the run for practically his whole life. The nearest room with a lock was the bathroom, not the best place to be considering his current mental state, he knew that, but it was better than nothing. He didn’t even notice that he had shaken the table until he was half way out of the room, hearing his glass shatter onto the floor and Juno yelling after him.

The door slammed shut behind him and the lock was turned. Just in time too, any later and Juno would have been able to force his way in. Normally, Peter would believe himself strong enough to hold his own in the fight for the door but he wasn’t exactly as his strongest, even he could recognize that.

Except he couldn’t. He saw himself in the mirror and had to do a double-take to make sure it was in fact Peter Nureyev looking back at him. He looked gaunt. He was thin before but at least he had muscle, clearly a good amount considering his line of work, but it was almost all gone. He never realized how limp his shirt had started hanging off of him or how loosely his pants fit. Even his skin seemed paler, letting his eyebags stand out more predominantly. _When was the last time he properly slept?_

“Peter-” the door handle shook aggressively.

The worry in Juno’s voice wasn’t hidden, he wasn’t trying to hide his fear and that made the man feel… _good_. He gave a small laugh from the other side of the door- _it shouldn’t feel good but it really, really does. To hear Juno pretend to worry about him, he wants to believe it's real but after their night together? It never could be-_ except the laugh comes out as a sob. A full body sob as he caves in on himself using the door as an anchor as he slides down onto the tile floors.

He’d never cried on the Carte Blanche. He prided himself on that. The most emotion the crew had managed to get out of him has been an exasperated annoyance at most, other than that he was cool and calm and collected and Peter Ransom.

Ransom didn’t have nightmares about Mags. Or Miasma. Ransom would get so engrossed in things he would miss meals; planning the next heist or reading one of the few paper books he could find on their travels, things that wouldn’t cause any worry when he didn’t show up. Ransom turns down Rita's request for “Family Movie Night” because that means popcorn and cramped spaces and Juno. Ransom doesn’t care for Juno- loudmouth, impulsive, self destructive, gorgeous Juno.

_Nureyev_ did care, though. He cared so damn much that his sobs just came harder. His whole body hurt from the shaking and his desperate struggle to breathe- _it's pitiful really, that you’re struggling with the most rudimentary thing in the world_ ; he thought as he gasped, getting enough air in to give a small chuckle in spite of himself.

Peter Nureyev, 36 years old, crying on the bathroom floor with the only lady who cared about him on the other side of the door. A lady he had spent the most recent weeks pushing away, how attractive he found his quiet little laughs filed under “for future consideration” as soon as they’re heard. Peter Nureyev, 36 years old, crying on the bathroom floor because he doesn’t know how to feed himself. Who’s tried to get better but it just never seemed worth it because _he wasn’t sick enough. No one would take him seriously. Boys don’t get eating disorders._

The laughter returned to sobs as he realized the dramatic irony of it all. The last time Nureyev and Juno had been together, it was on either side of a door, the one locked in about to die and the one outside desperately trying to save him.

_Oh Juno. How the tables have turned._

“Peter, Peter is you don’t open this door right now i swear i’m going to break it down-”

Juno was crying too, he realized. The hitches in his ladies voice could be heard a mile away. And it didn’t feel good this time. Juno was crying over him. Manipulative, lying, tired Nureyev.

He slumped ever deeper into the door, suddenly drained in such a way he hasn’t felt in years. The tears had stopped, replaced by a panicked hyperventilation. He didn’t know what to do, everything he had filed away was coming undone and it's all he can do not to scream in the agony of it all but then he does.

He shrieks and flies backwards until he’s pinned against the bathtub as the door swings open, the lock picked and useless. With a red-faced Juno looming in the doorway.

Juno was immediately on the floor next to Nureyev, reaching a hand out to touch his face when it was slapped away. The look of concern on the detectives face was obvious before but the pang of loss that flashed across it when his hand was slapped away was more than the thief could bear. So he slammed his eyes shut again. _Maybe with his eyes shut the tears would stop. And the pain would stop. And he could just live in the peaceful dark forever._

It didn’t work though. Juno squeaked out Peter's name. Peter's _first_ name. A name Juno reserved for moments of pure love or pure terror and the fact that Peter didn’t know which one caused it just caused the tears to come back. He couldn’t help it, his detective hadn't seen him cry sense their time together in the martian tomb and he hated that Juno had to see it at all. _Crying was always such a wretched thing._

So he did his best not to let Juno see it by pulling him closer on the bathroom tile and crying into his hideous gorgeous torn up trench coat. All the while Juno's large calloused hands ran through Nureyev's hair whispering sweet nothings to calm him down. Neither knew where the rest of the crew were, probably staring in from the still open bathroom door but neither cared.

They awoke a few hours later to an empty Carte Blanche, the rest of the crew in their quarters, the lights dark and a blanket thrown over their shoulders.

**Author's Note:**

> i will be updating this! not sure as to when as i will be traveling soon but hopefully as quickly as possible. and if you're reading this and you also struggle with an eating disorder i want you to know that i believe in you. its never too early to recover. recovery isn't linear- thats something i had to learn and something peter will too- but recovery is so insanely worth it. i love you.


End file.
